


A Different Sort of Mending

by Failed_to_Deanon



Series: The Practice of Mending [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Infidelity, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Duty, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Family Drama, Lust, Married Life, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failed_to_Deanon/pseuds/Failed_to_Deanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this AU to Mending Endeavors, a husband and wife come to an agreement for simplicity sake, however, nothing is ever simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rhaegar

**Author's Note:**

> The disclaimer: I own nothing. All things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, & company, & the asoiaf wiki.
> 
> Though it is welcome, no prior reading of Mending Endeavors or its direct sequel is required to read this work as it follows a divergent storyline. 
> 
> I hope readers enjoy.

Softly spoken as they are, Elia’s words leave him breathless. He takes the wooden chair across from hers to keep himself from falling. 

_"Soon, much of the scrutiny upon us will fade. Then you needn't concern yourself with my needs which will allow you to concentrate solely on her and I could discreetly take a paramour to satisfy any possible 'needs' that I may have."_

When he thinks he can find the words again, they do not come out steady. At his best he could have barely managed it and now… “Is that what you truly want?” 

He hopes he heard wrong. He must, he thinks though he knew he had not.

“I think it best for us all.”

What Elia says is not true. She cannot mean it. She cannot believe it. Still, he hears the sadness in Elia’s voice and sees the tiredness in the curve of her shoulders. That alone makes him halt the words he should say. Instead, the words which leave him are: “Have I become so repulsive to you?” 

When he could bring himself to look at Elia, she laughs; a weak huff of air. “That’s the thing, Rhaegar, you are not. Even if I had thought this, what does that matter when it had not before? To the realm I already look like a weak fool. Am I supposed to be one too?”

Her shoulders slump. “When it is obvious you do not desire me, I do not wish force myself upon you. Our lives are upended enough. Taking a lover is only solution I can think of that does not tear apart everything left.”

Slumping back in his chair, he shivers in horror. Multiple daggers coming at him would astonish him less. How could his Elia think this? This woman who he shared his life with beginning with those wonderful months on Dragonstone. The mother of his children; the mother of his heir. Elia is his queen. And how could she- 

He barely stops himself from shivering again. He knows how she could think this. He had let himself glut without thinking what it meant for those around him and now… “No!”

She flinches. “No? Why?”

Not very hopeful of managing it, he tries to force his voice to remain steady. “You are wrong. I do still want you.”

Rather than take it as the affirmation he means it to be, she practically shakes with frustration. “Do not lie to me. We both know I am little more than an obligation to you. I have always been.” She finally ends with a deep, weary sigh.

He finds himself flushing. “You dare say that!”

She laughs. This sharp, sour thing he heard only once before. The merest memory of it forces him to brace for the impact of words certain to hurt him. “Should I think differently? I was not pretty enough to give flowers to. I did not give you the number of children you required. My presence in King’s Landing only amounted to 10,000 spears for the Crown. I am not worthy enough to be your only queen. Even if everyone is too polite to say it, the lowliest beggar in Flee Bottom knows me to be your obligation and nothing more.”

The sheer despair in her voice leaves him colder than he ever felt. His head shakes wildly and rises to move around the desk separating them, kneeling in front of her. He takes her hand. She lets him take it. Her hand is limp and cold. Elia’s hand is cold when it used to be so warm. It feels wrong. It is wrong. “It is not true. I know I treated you more than simply ill. It is my fault I did not think of how difficult any of this would be for you, but, do not dare think for one more instant that I do not want you here. I need you here with me. I want you with me, now and always.” 

Her hand slip from his. As much as he longs to take it again, he knows any attempt will make things worse. “And where does that leave me, waiting for whatever scraps of attention you feel duty-bound to offer? Is that all I should hope for? Even if this is the best you can do, I do not want that.” 

_And that would not be good enough._

Because of it, now he must decide if he wants any part of his wife or none. 

He exhales. He lets her hand go and rises to take his seat once again. “That is not what I meant.”

She grimaces and looks away again. “What you did mean?”

Along with the sour turn of his thoughts, a bitter taste settles in his mouth and sticks there. He cannot remain silent forever though. This prospect he never believed he would have to entertain...“If you will not bar me from your rooms, you can have your paramour.”

She flinches. “What?”

He does not want to be here thinking like this, offering such a “compromise”, but, what else does he have to contend with her wishes?

She would have slapped him if he argued she ought to remain faithful to him. He would let her, he thinks. In some ways, he is surprise she had not, yet. He can trust she would not be indiscreet when her own reputation and the children’s honor is at stake. Can he argue about the dangers of future children taking on unsavory characteristics when he strayed from her because there would be no more children from her?

“I have not treated you well, I say it now and I will say it ten times and a thousand times if that is your wish, but, please, please do not keep yourself away from me.”

He barely managed to restrain his shudder simply saying the words. He would give her anything if she would just look at him without exhaustion in her eyes and to feel her warm hands upon his skin. This is not what he wants, but, he cannot lose her like this when he does not want to lose her at all. 

He’d been a fool to think he would not have lost her. That he had needed to come here to speak with her at all told him how deep the divide between them became. He fears where this may lead, but, that she expressly admitted her desire is enough to know that if she wants a lover, she would take one. “And what of Lyanna?”

He flinches. He never intended for Elia to be his wife in name only, Lyanna or no Lyanna, love or not, third dragon or not. “I never ended to be only hers and I never said I would be, but, if you like I will speak to her.” 

She lets out an incredulous laugh, but, he is relieved there was no censure in it, or at least he hopes so. “Speak with her, not at her.”

He stares, not quite understanding. She huffs a soft laugh and explains, “If you must, talk to her, not at her. It is not one of your more endearing qualities.”

He flushes at how well Elia knows him. He jerks at the thought. He had not known her though. “Yes, of course.” He winces, thinking of how thoughtless he sounds. 

“Should I tell her of this?”

Something undefinable passes across her face. “I think it might make her very happy if you do.” 

Dread filling him, his brows furrow. “This is about Lyanna?” 

He is too unnerved with what ought not to be to be comforted by Elia taking Lyanna’s sentiments into account. Were he in a proper state he might have thought it a marvel how half of Elia’s smile can show twice the amount of disdain. “With you it always is.”

Merely five words and the weight of them is far too heavy. Is that what this is about? Hadn’t she understood? Hadn’t he explained? Should he have tried it a different way? “No, it is not.”

“When you cannot stop holding her hand because she is too distraught to let me have time with my own husband why should I think differently?”

He bites back the retort and his frustration. “I came to you. You were asleep.” 

She shakes her head wildly. “I let you whisper in my ears about how much care and affection you supposedly have for me far too many times.” She holds a fist. “You embarrassed me at Harrenhal for her.” She unclenches her thumb. “You vanished without a trace only to turn up nearly a year later and left me under your father’s tender attention for her.” She lifts a finger free from her clenched fist. “You brought her here without giving me even the slightest warning.” She lifts a second. “I should not have been put in the position of having to make arrangements for your wedding to someone else and you took it as your due.” A third. “On the night of the coronation I waited for hours for you like I waited years.” He is left staring at an open palm.

She shakes her head when she lowers her hand. “That night was the first since our son was born that I would finally have my husband back and you broke your promise to me. Time and time again you proved I cannot depend on you.”

“You can.” 

Though she laughs her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Only until Lyanna comes calling.” 

She grins wryly. “I have grown tired of hoping I might matter to you, but, for the sake of my children I must accept what I cannot change about you.”

A sword through the heart would have hurt less than those words. “You think I do not protect our children?”

“When Targaryens are concerned, fortune is fickle enough. You ask if I can trust you when you are far more aware than I of how many Dragons have danced or if Maegor the Cruel had children who lived you would not be king now.”

Something heavy lodges in his throat at the accusation. “I will not favor Aegon over Jon.” 

She smiles, all teeth. “Be it Lyanna or someone else, when you favor Jon’s mother over me, would no one continue to believe that? Why should I trust your word or your son’s mother’s?” 

As horrified as he is at her thoughts, incredulity breaches his. “You think she, that girl down the hall, would seek to do something so vile?”

This smile is no less a sneer than the last one. “She helped herself to my husband. She pouted about not getting the wedding she wanted. Despite her numerous claims of only needing your love, she still took a crown for herself as well. She cried until you gave into her tears after it finally occurred to you that I might want one night with you after nearly two years. Why should I think she would never have designs to put her son on the throne?”

No! “She wouldn’t!” He would not let her! “I would not allow it.”

She shrugs. “Like Lyanna, Daena Targaryen was a queen who had a son. Unlike Daena, Lyanna’s son has his father’s name; the name you gave him; the name you gave them both. You know better than I the number of attempts it took to rid this house of that danger. You might ignore the risk; I cannot. And even if her thoughts are pure or will remain so, at the very least, would she not think to advance her son if it means mending the rift between herself and her living brothers?”

His shoulders jerk. Surely Lord Eddard wouldn’t-Cold grips him. Even if the younger was barely a man grown, what did he know of Eddard Stark aside from his being a man willing to fight because of his love of men dead far too soon? “You think they would pressure her?”

Elia looks down, but, not before he saw the expression he saw only once before when she heard his father’s jibes at his being presented with Rhaenys. It was an expression which meant she would choose her words very carefully so as to not risk the wrath of the volatile king before her. This knowledge sickens him as much as anything else he heard this night. “I think the sting of complicity, no matter how slight, in the death of one’s father and brother and the hurt of your living kin is caused by it, lessens when you can make your son into a king.”

This time he has to look away. “You are kind to her because you truly fear the possibility.” Surely she is mistaken. She has to be.

The way she looks at him, acquiescent and fatigued, almost makes him retch. “To give you up is a price I would gladly pay to secure my children’s legacy.”

_Nothing given goes without a price._

He would like to argue further but, he does not. He cannot. If Elia is tired, he is spent.

He’d seen Lyanna’s face when he said he would go to Elia that one night, how he easily stayed until she calmed. The knowledge Elia had not waited, or cannot wait for him any longer burns his soul.

Unlike his father’s affinity for her bloodline recommended her as a wife for him when nothing else had, from the start, it was not just her intelligence and grace which drew Elia to him, but, she was one of the few who came close to understanding him. Even when he hurt her, she supported him. 

Until today Elia has always been the personification of tact and now she has none for him. Trusting Elia would be by his side, he’d forgotten he married a woman who was a viper first and foremost and in his greed he ignored venom long held dormant. And so he will give her all he can, even if it someone else. After all, he demanded the same of her.

“You do not need to fear Northern ambitions be it Lyanna’s or her brothers. Jon will never be my heir. But, if a lover is what you want, you will have one provided you do not refuse me.” 

Suspicious, she glares. “Why?”

Because he does not want to let her go. No matter what she might think, he cannot let her go. “You are my wife.”

“You have another.” He bites back his own frustration. Even if he wanted to, he cannot undo that.

He exhales. How could he tell her he does not want to let her go? No matter what she might think, he cannot let her go. What could he appeal to? Even as he asks himself the question, the answer comes to him. Gods…Was this the best he could do? This is what he must resort to so that his wife not turn away from him? “You only just told me how easy it was to give me up if it meant our children were secure.”

She laughs bitterly. “Was it not enough that you allowed your father to hold me hostage that you would do the same to me?”

He clenches his jaw before he says something he regrets. “It was you who think others might threaten our children; that they would whisper to Lyanna or those who would support such a cause. They would be less willing to whisper if there is nothing that could be whispered about.”

He grimaces at her surprised expression and how this is the path he must travel. “You are not the only one who can be logical, Elia.”

Prepared for more disgust or anger, he gets half a grin. “I suppose it is reasonable, under the circumstances.”

Reasonable? Is being reasonable going to govern much of his life from this point forward?

Because he cannot help himself he remembers something else. “There is one more thing I hope you will oblige.” 

Her dark eyes flick to his. She frowns. There is, however, no surprise in her. “What is it you hope I oblige?”

He fights his own frown. She said ‘hope’ as if she believed it to be ‘demand’. But then, he thinks grimly, to her he proved to too demanding of a husband already.

At her expectant look, he replies, “I will chose him.”

She laughs again; this one sounded hollower than the last. “You will not let me even have that.”

She sounded resigned, as if she cannot be bothered with stirring up anger or irritation because of him. While he could have wondered at it, ire begins to simmer at the clear dismissal. Had he been any other man, a less guilty one perhaps, he might have had her arrested for treason the moment she mentioned taking a lover let alone allowed this.

When that thought comes across his mind, he almost recoils in horror. He is not Aerys Targaryen. He will not brutalize those who he believe fail him when he had been the one who failed first. Yet, it does not mean he will accept her disregard so easily.

“You are planning to cut me out of your bed if not your life completely, even when I tell you I desire it not. You, a queen, want to put horns on me. You can at least indulge this request.”

She snorts, her disgust plain enough. “I am supposed to trust you would do right by me?” 

That she would distrust others, Lyanna, he could accept. To hear how she does not trust him so plainly said hurts.

“You have not given me a reason to and every reason not to.”

Whatever rage he tried to grasp fled swiftly, leaving exhaustion in its wake. That was it, wasn’t it? When he put that cloak against her back, he promised to be faithful to her, love her, protect her, and he failed to do each one. 

“I have disappointed you.”

He gets nothing, not that he expected her to answer.

“I failed you before. Let me do better this time. Let me choose and I will not fail you in this.” 

She nods. It is one of acknowledgment of his statement; not of hope or absolution. Wishing he received more than that and knowing he would fail to get it, he sighs. “Since this is the course you are set on, I would want it to be with someone I know whose motives will be pure.”

For a moment, her face twists. Despite the situation he finds himself in, his soft laughter follows hers. There is nothing ‘pure’ about one’s own wife offering to remove herself from the marital bed with or without taking a lover. There is nothing pure about either of them, he thinks. “I would rather be certain any lover not exploit vulnerabilities you might have.” 

Her lips twitch. 

“What is so amusing?”

“That my position is vulnerable is hardly a secret.” 

This time, he nods. He had not needed Elia to tell him at its most wholesome King’s Landing is a sewer of greed and anointed king or not, he is too aware of how his own actions provided leverage for those who would seek it. 

“All the more reason for me to be protective.” 

Even when she does not trust his motives, he is not lying to her. If he cannot have his wife back completely, then he wants to ensure her security. For himself, his children, and for her. If she wants someone else, anyone else he wants to do this for her…It is the least he can do. Besides, if all she wanted was a paramour she would have attempting getting one already.

To his relief, she nods. “Well, since you insist on deciding, who can you think of would be amenable to such an arrangement?”

He no desire in picking a name. 

The only reason he thinks up any is because he knows if she will not accept some part of him she might not want any part of him any longer. Of all the things he is willing to accept, that is not one of them. It will never be.

Though it had been his idea, he has more fingers on one hand than names he can think of. But, he had demanded he choice and he has no desire to lie to her again. 

Of course when he gives her the name at the top of the short list her anger flares again. “Haven’t you trampled over my pride enough? Must you mock me?”

It shocks him. It infuriates him. He agreed to this. Why was she furious when he is intent on giving her what she wanted? “Despite what you might think of me, I am not mocking you! Is he not comely enough? Is he not gallant enough? Is there some quality of his you dislike?”

He has no desire to ask, let alone know for certain whether or not she knows man with qualities she would prefer in a lover. He also grows uneasy at the prospect of there being one already. But, why would this make her angry?

The way she stares at him, with her dark eyes so completely wide, unsettle him when he is already not at his best. His thoughts grow more disconcerted when she asks, “Of all the men you can think of, you chose a man so utterly devoted to you?”

Shaken, he barely contains his frown. Did she believe this was some sort of trap? Was that what she expected of him? 

Remembering what befell his mother at his father’s hands Elia revealed to him just now while he would not fall that low, he is all too aware of how easy it is to be less than kind. How many days, weeks, months she has spent thinking of how much crueler to her he can become? 

Painfully aware of how much they grew apart, he shakes his head wildly. She obviously misunderstood him. He had not meant to insult or trap her at all. “He is a man like any other. I do not think you would have to try very hard to bring out passions and desires long suppressed.” 

This was hardly the ideal solution to his problem, but, this would be the most ideal of unappealing choices left to him. Seeing her attempt at giving him an expressionless face, he continues, “I know you think I do not I mean for you to have the best-”

Holding his hands up before she argues, he finds himself angrily thinking if he had thought of Elia before, he would not be in this position now. “It is true I choose him because he has shown unfailing loyalty to me, but, that means that I can trust him with you. I have been unsuccessful with making you happy thus far.”

“You went out of your way to make me unhappy.”

He breathes deeply at the stubborn words. He will not argue about this. Not again. Harrenhal and what stemmed from it will always hang between them. He should have seen it, but, had not wanted to and here was the result. He cannot mend this broken thing between them, but, he wants to ensure things between them are better from now on. If this is what needs to ensure it, he will make the effort. He has few options otherwise. 

He almost laughs. Oh, he has options, only they would prove to her that he is the monster she likely sees him to be.

“Even if you do not see it, I never tried to hurt you.” When she goes to speak again, he shakes his head, “But, it does not matter because I did and I am sorry. If nothing else, know that.”

“You are certain of him.” The breath he’d been holding rushes out.

He considers her point though he does not want to. In the end, he has to admit, “He is a man just like any other. You are beautiful, kind, intelligent, and not without charm when you choose to employ it.”

She looks at him and only then does he realize how that could have been taken. He shakes his head. “I have no doubt you will entice him.” He knows this man enough to know Elia could do exactly that if she had a mind to. 

He frowns when her shoulders slump. “I could not entice you.”

He shakes his head softly. That was not it at all. He frowns wondering why he could never find the right words with Elia. He never learned how to find them or rather he always tries to find them after it all goes wrong. “You do. You did. It is just-” He stops. There is no need to continue when she knew.

As if to prove his belief, not quite looking him in the eye, she morosely continues, “I couldn’t give you want you wanted.”

Shame burns through him once again for letting her believe it and for letting things to the point where she voices it. “You did better than anyone else could have done.”

It is a wonder she seems to accept the answer though it would not surprise him if she did not believe him.

“Do you think he will agree?” 

That was a worry. Even if Elia did have an interest in taking any lover, the prospective one in question would have to agree and her point about loyalty to him would be a valid point of contention.

Unfortunately for him, loyalty to one’s master was one thing, the temptation of a willing woman, made of warm flesh, another. “He is a knight. Appreciation for the virtues of ladies comes naturally to that sort.”

She snorts. “I suppose so.” He wonders at the reaction, but, then he remembers his own forays into knighthood.

Ignoring the growing ache in his mind, he presses forward. “He is a good man who serves this family well. A good man.”

She returns, “Good men do not bed their lord’s wife or even think to do it.”

Something in her face makes him ask, “But, you do wish to find out?”

She shrugs. Part of him thinks her reluctance means she is not firm in her decision to take a lover, to forget this as he wants to do, however, for him to take things for granted brought them to this point. At least she appears to still trust his judgment somewhat, but, it is hardly something to take heart in. “He is a loyal man.”

She smiles at him crookedly. 

He knows what that expression is. “What is humorous now?” He can find nothing humorous about this at all and despite her stated wishes, his Elia would never be so indifferent.

“Would he be loyal if he does this or does not?”

Despite the situation or perhaps because of it, the urge to laugh strikes him fiercely and he gives into it. “This is why I am sure of him. I think he would appreciate your wit.”

The way she looks at him now reminds him of their nights on Dragonstone. Gods, how he misses those first nights; Those first nights; the good ones away from his father; the ones so full of promise. 

Just as quickly, those sweet memories fade into his stark reality where he discusses getting his wife a lover. He mourns knowing he will never have those moments again. Or if he does have them, he will have to share them with someone else. The pain filling him at that thought-

The knowledge that he all but tried to force her into “trying” with Lyanna being here does not make this any easier to accept that he has few options left than to do this. 

“Suppose his loyalty to you will not stretch so far?” 

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chair. “Then you may choose any one you wish and I will not protest.” 

Before this he spent far many hours thinking of what Elia would do once things were settled. She could have ranted and raved. She might have threatened him with her brothers. She could have wounded him herself. She could have left. He understands why she would have done any of it and all of it and he would not blame her. Even if sparing Lyanna or him the guilt was not her aim, he is grateful she stayed. And the realm…He did not need these few weeks to know truly what Elia’s worth was.

“You will not?”

He closes his eyes. Her doubt stings. 

Even if he did not love her the way she needed, to see any of his thoughts come to fruition would have destroyed him. It is a bitter realization come far too late. He opens his eyes again. “You could have gone and did not and I would like the opportunity to have earned it. Please.” 

Though Elia looks dubious, he is resolved to keep this promise. 

Elia bows her head. “I will of course ensure I am discreet.” She looks away, blushing slightly.

“I know.” 

He also knows it is not because of him. She will do so for their children. While it hurts knowing he will never again be the forefront of her motives, it does not shock him. Knowing as he does now, he is certain she stayed because she would have had to leave the children behind and to do so, it would have destroyed her no matter how many visits he would allow.

She sighs. “Very well.”

He nods. “Yes.”

Elia looks relieved. “Then we have an accord.”

 _Accord_. Even in his own mind the words disgust him. He lets out a shuddering breath. 

He does not want this, but, that is the best he can hope for now. He learned Elia’s likes and dislikes, but, beyond his aims, when he should have, he never truly cared to know her much beyond what she could do for him. And that proved not enough.

His jaw clenches thinking of all his regrets and those that may yet come.

He gives her his own nod and leaves her. He does not look back. He does not want to know what he would discover if he did.

He glances back at the door now closed to him. He hopes it does not foretell a time when Elia is barred to him completely.

He turns around again to march down the hall trying to understand what had just became of his life. 

He would laugh himself sick if he was not weary. 

Oh, gods, even if his father was in the deepest of the Seven Hells he must be laughing at him now. His father’s strongest efforts to do as he thought best resulted in ruining other’s lives. His resulted in him ruining his own.

Marching across the thankfully empty hallway, he runs a hand across his face. Who can say where this will lead?


	2. Elia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who left Kudos, Comments, and Bookmarked the story.

She tells herself to paste on a smile when two pairs of eyes stare at her. “Lord Commander. If you would excuse us.”

It is a credit to Ser Gerold that he displays no emotion at the now odd request. She relaxes further when the dear man obliges her with a bow with barely at a glance at Rhaegar. “Yes, my queen.”

Feeling a chill pass through her, she pulls her shawl tighter against her. Not just Rhaegar fills her thoughts. She does not want Gerold Hightower to learn why she was here. She does not want Ser Gerold to think ill of her. If he knew, he would probably curse her more than he already might. That she would lie to him; that she would intend to do something which went against everything he stood for… 

Her smile slips only when Gerold Hightower walks past her. 

He took an injury for her once. He repaid her for that by helping her husband make her look like a fool. She knew the Lord Commander might do worse if Rhaegar desired. She knew this because he had done little against a very different king who died while he failed to keep watch.

When they are safely alone she turns back to see Rhaegar’s head cocked sideways with a severe frown at the center of his face. “Elia?”

She wishes she could believe he is concerned for her rather than because of her. Except, she knows he is not. “We discussed a matter recently.”

“I agreed to your request, Elia.” She almost flinches when he glares at her disgustedly. Gods. When did she become the cause of it for him? 

Even then, hearing him deliver an argument through clenched teeth makes her glad. She would not have been able to stand it if he said anything to her in mournful tones and sadness in his eyes. She would not have believed it. She’d been his fool often enough. She is furious enough at herself for becoming close to allowing it again. 

_Hearing the door close behind her, whatever strength she had left her and she slumps in her chair. Drawing unsteady breathes, she thinks, ‘Gods what had she done?’_

_Even if she could take the words back, she could not erase them. But, surely, he would forgive her if she asked. He had not seemed like he believed her. She will tell him to forget it, forget everything. It was a fit of madness. She will tell him and try to convince him she could be happy with him and that she would be happy with what he can give her. She will have convince him. She will do what she can to do it._

_Not knowing how long she sat she rages at herself. ‘Stupid fool’, she calls herself as she jerks herself out of her chair even as she tries to slow the sharp beating of her heart. She reaches the door hoping he has not gone far._

_Her eyes burn. She shuffles quickly down the damnably empty corridor, breathing heavily._

_Where could Rhaegar be? His solar? His rooms? Lyanna’s? Had he sent for the Kingsguard? Members of the Small Council? Where is he? What would he do?_

_She does not know. She winces at how much that hurts. How can she not know? She is his wife. Why does she not know?_

_Gods, what had she been thinking? What possessed her to tell Rhaegar she would take a lover? What possessed her to even think anyone would want to touch her at all? There are so many questions and she has few if any answers. She decides to try his solar first. That was where he kept his harp and his prized tomes. That is where he was most at peace. In her blind haste, she stumbles. She shakes her head and tries to move along. There was time yet._

_Why had she let frustration muddle her wits? What possessed her to admit her fears to him? Despite the terror gripping her, thoughts of her mother’s desires for her slipped through._

_How could she have admitted all to him! Gods! She gave him all that he needs to get rid of her. He could have her killed! No one would stop him._

_The children-Would he take his anger towards her on them once he was done with her?_

_She shivers her hand flying towards her mouth. No, she cannot let this-_

_Gods, what had she done? How could she have been so foolish? Madness. She is becoming mad! No! She must already be if she thought telling him she would take a lover so he would not have to bother with her be a solution._

_Even if he promised…When she tries to blink away the burning in her eyes she laughs brokenly. What does it matter what he promised her? He might have been lying. Of course he was. He was probably humoring her all the while thinking about what to do with her…He was probably thinking of how best to get rid of her._

_Even if he could only drum up pity for her and spare her life, Rhaegar would send her away!_

_She feels the blood rushing away from her face. Why would he keep her? Of course he would send her away. He has another wife, doesn’t he? One he wants._

_All she had said to him…And damned fool she is she gave him every reason because she gave into the urge to hurt him like he hurt her. She just has to find him. She will beg him to simply forget she said anything. Perhaps not all was lost. Perhaps she could fix-_

_And it is on the heels of that she skids to a stop._

_No! Her mind screams as the hand forms a fist. Breathing heavily, she steps back out the corridor. She turns around sharply._

_She will not do this._

_What was she thinking, running after Rhaegar like a motherless pup? Surely her all of her good sense has not fled?_

_She feels ill. Her mother would be ashamed. She is ashamed of herself._

_How much of a damned fool was she? What is she thinking, considering pleading with him to forget everything? He would never forget what she told him. She knows him too well. He probably wants her to do this. It is, no doubt, what he expects._

_She feels her face pulling into a sneer. Of course, he would. She always did what he expects._

_Why should she indulge him when he will probably throw her desperation in his face?_

_If she gives in now…She tried to be the wife he needed. She tried to be the daughter Rhaella deserved and the dutifully silent daughter-in-law Aerys demanded she be. She tried to be the sister Viserys needed._

_She have him two beautiful children and tried to make the seat he chose to call a home a haven for him._

_She already gave him enough._

_She will not go begging him. She waited enough for him to think of her. She cannot allow herself to do it; not any more._

No matter how sure she felt in that moment, now in front of Rhaegar now, she is unsurprised to see Rhaegar’s anger spark. She expected it. Once, not far back in time, to turn inward would have been easy. In the end, it got her a mess of a life. “You added particular stipulations.” 

Entreating, he holds his hands up. “Which you agreed to.” 

Her face heats. ‘Agreed to’ as if she could not without losing what little face she had left.

Oh, but, he is not done lecturing her. Never that! “You are more than capable of addressing whatever requirements you have for him whenever and however you like. In fact, he is down the hall.”

His piece said, he looks down at a ledger. How easily he seems to dismiss her. It is unbecoming for her to want to savor his anger, yet, this time, she makes an exception. “The lover you chose for me is down the hall. The least you can do is to-” 

Purple eyes flick upward, blazing now. “‘The least I can do’? The least I can do? I am allowing you to put horns on me with one of my own men. That is more than the least I can do. And now, what? You wish me to arrange it?”

This time, she clenches her jaw tightly. This is why this is necessary. He will not think with her security in mind. Despite herself, Aerys' sneering voice filling her head.

_“Tell me, how does it feel?”_

_“‘Your Grace?’ How is what supposed to feel?’”_

_“Knowing that my wayward son thinks you to be more expendable than I do?”_

_“Forgive my ignorance, my king, but, your meaning escapes me.”_

_Aerys laughs. The sound is sharp and cruel. He raises talons. “Of course it does. Come here, daughter.” ‘Daughter.’ It sounds like a curse._

_Aerys tilts his head. His eyes seem to glow. “His troublesome bauble he hides with the best and dearest of is men, yet, here you are with me. What does that tell you?”_

_Her stomach drops at the cold sneer accompanying the words. “That means very little when the protection of family is fiercer than that of the most valiant of knights.”_

_A unpleasant smile plays at his lips now. “Such a devout answer.”_

_“I am devoted to you, Your Grace.” Because she must be, not because he deserves it._

_Aerys laughs again. The hard sound envelopes her. “You are clever; just like your mother.”_

_“Thank you, Your Grace.” Hoping that is the end of it, she holds her breath._

_It is not. Whatever spark of levity in Aerys there had been vanishes as though it never existed. “It is quite the shame that cleverness amounts for nothing to him.”_

_“Your Grace-”_

_Aerys’ mouth twists into a sneer. “Spare me your protests and explanations, girl. I know how little you are worth to my son. Do not fear though, after all, your worth is what I deem it is.”_

She had not needed Aerys to tell her that a king’s thoughts are the only ones that matter. “Surely you do not think he would agree without your knowledge or rather your blessings?”

Rhaegar sneers. “What man needs a blessing aside from the knowledge that there is a willing woman before him? It would be a boon to a man of flesh and bone.”

She lets out a disgusted laugh. Of course Rhaegar would desire giving her a desperate man. “You would know more about such things than I.”

Rhaegar snaps up out of his chair. “Do not pretend it is my blessings you want.”

He sounds offended. She almost laughs. That he can do that, make her laugh, even if it was for this, makes her furious with herself far more than with him. “I want you to arrange what you demanded.”

“Are you not capable of managing it yourself? You want a lover. Do it yourself unless you would rather not.”

It was as if her terrified thoughts were coming true. She bites back the retort she desires voicing. How quickly things turn. Not less than a week ago he turned those sad eyes on her and with the softest voice waxed poetically about his certainty she could land a lover and now this? Had he been feeding her lies?

Bile rises in her throat. Of course he was. It suited him to do that. It is what worked to soothe her in the past.

“If I was to step into the White Tower and tell a man, one we both know is utterly devoted to you I should like him as a lover, which do you think is more likely: for him to fall at my feet in bliss, think me mad, or arrest me for treason?”

Bitterly, she purses her lips at his startled gawking. Of course, he had not thought of that. Why would he? Whatever he thinks happens. Why would he not think the gods have blessed others similarly? Why would he think of how things affect her? She is only the wife he remembers when it is convenient.

Naturally, Rhaegar stands firm. “Isn’t it enough that I offered him to you? Why would you have me involve myself further?”

Even if she desired it, the disgust she should curb spills from her throat. “Had you given me leave to take my own lover as I wanted I would not have had to involve you.” 

He leans across the desk separating them. Lips curled in scorn, he hisses, “And that is what you truly want, isn’t it? Nothing to do with me.”

Despite herself she laughs aloud. Of course, that is what offends him most. It is all well and good for him to keep her tied to him no matter how little she gets in return for it but gods forbid she needs something of her own. “He is your man, Rhaegar. How would he know that I was not playing a dirty trick if it does not come from you? Or is that what you want, for me to look like a bigger fool?” How can someone else think it would not be a trick if she is not certain herself?

She rolls her shoulders back. Yet, that is not the issue between them. “Why bother to ask ‘What I want?’ With you it is never about what I want. Even this.”

He growls at her. “Again with that accusation? How could you say that?”

Emotions getting the better of her, she snaps out, “Because before I married you I knew that half of you would never be mine.”

“What?”

Had she been in the mood she would relish how his sneer pulls back into a confused frown. 

The sob threatening to bubble up is difficult to push down. “In little more than 5 years I barely have a quarter.” And no sign that it will ever improve. Experience tells her it will become worse. 

“What do you mean ‘half’?”

Her throat sticks. She coughs, trying to get out the words out she longs to say. 

She pulls her hands behind her back. If Rhaegar had been paying attention, he would have noticed how they shake; only he was not looking.

That was the problem. He never looked until he had to. 

She closes her eyes and breathes deep. “Before we wed I knew better than to hope for half your attention because the other half would be dedicated to the realm. I knew what to accept when you would be king. But, in less than five years you demand I subsist on a quarter. I cannot.” 

Half her husband was denied her from the beginning. That half shrunk to a third because his all-important prophecy. That third dwindled when he got himself another woman, another love, and another life. But, would he listen? Could he understand? Would he ever deign to? Not now, that is for certain. 

If anything, Rhaegar looks angrier. “What more do you want from me? Tell me since I clearly do not give you what you need! Damn you, Elia! Tell me what you want!”

She stares. “You ask me about what I want when it is too late?”

He shakes his head wildly and throws his hands in the air. “Why is everything a fight with you now?” 

She laughs. A fight with her? Now that she dares to give any sort of dissent he thinks she means to fight him? Oh, but, she cannot argue this time can she? She was trying to fight him. 

He steps around his desk. “I do not understand you! You confound me, Elia! Let me know what you want so that I can give it to you. I cannot do that if you do not tell me!” 

Oh, she must be as mad as he seems to be to her. When he cannot do one simple thing for her, he says he wants to give her what she wants. 

She laughs again. How can she not? When has he ever bothered to know what she wants? “What I want or what you want?”

He stalks closer and her breath starts to quicken. “This is not what I want, Elia.”

She does not believe him. She cannot believe him. She knows him too well. He found it too easy to let her slip from his mind before. Why would he not take this chance to let her be someone else’s yoke? Certainly he would find it easier. “Isn’t it? Keep me surrounded by your man all the while you pretend I am little more than a convenience.”

He scowls at her. “Damn you woman! You are my wife; not a convenience. Why would I see you like that? How can you think it?” He pulls his arms against her waist and pulls her close. 

“For me to take your man into my bed and my life is what you want because you cannot be bothered; not me. What is this if not what you want, Rhaegar?” 

He whispers, “Elia, please? Don’t-”

He is closer now. She tries to step back, yet, he grasps at her shoulders. He pulls her more tightly against him. Feeling the harsh puffs of his breath against her ear she shivers. “Elia, please…”

For one sweet moment she forgets herself then she tries to jerk away. 

Damn it all! Why does she let him near? Why does she keep letting him talk when he is a master of honeyed words? “I told you what I want. What I want is something for myself; a mere fraction of what you took. But, as always even that is too much for you. I do not know why you desired this. Perhaps that is why you want it or perhaps you do not trust that I would be so careful in my choices. Rest assured, it does not matter. I will offer myself to that man down the hall knowing that man even when in my bed, he will never be completely mine. I do this because as your wife, if you command I must obey. But, he is your man. I will not let him think it was my idea when it was yours. Though you can afford it, I cannot.”

Red faced, and with hands still clenched around her shoulders, Rhaegar starts, “Elia-”

She tries to push him away, but, his grip is too strong; too familiar; too warm. He is too close. 

She almost sinks to the floor in relief when Rhaegar drops his hands before answering the rap against the door. 

“Yes?”

Decidedly uncomfortable, Ser Gerold coughs before he announces, “Queen Lyanna”. 

Frowning, Lyanna glides in. Ser Gerold hastily exits and closes the door behind him.

Lyanna turns to her while extending her arm. “This letter is yours. It came to me by mistake.”

Before she can think to ask what this is about, Lyanna turns to Rhaegar. “I think I am going for a ride. I do not know when I will return.”

Without waiting for an answer, Lyanna turns and scurries out of the room in a manner which frightens her. Seeing the suspicion in Rhaegar’s eyes, she groans aloud.

It would not surprise her if he blamed her for whatever that was about. “Why would someone give letters meant for you to Lyanna?”

Trying to stave off the ache in her head building she pinches the bridge of her nose. She can think of enough reasons ranging from the accidental to the malevolent. To her chagrin, she knows no answer will satisfy Rhaegar. It has already been proven she does not know how.

No matter how much she desires to be free of that burden, what Rhaegar thinks matters to her. She hates herself for it, but, only a fool could think Rhaegar’s satisfaction or lack of it could be dismissed.

And yet, she knows Rhaegar will think what he wants. She forces herself to let out the slightest shrug. “I cannot say.”

Rhaegar’s lips pull back, “Who is it from?”

Lips pinching, she looks down. Instantly she thinks that there might not have been some nefarious purpose behind Lyanna being given this letter. All the same, this might prove terrible enough on its own. “Ethan Glover.”

Rhaegar frowns, his gaze growing more suspicious. “Who?”

A lump forms in her throat. No, of course Rhaegar would not know a man, a boy truly, he never met though he will see himself as responsible for much of what affects the lad now. “A Glover of Deepwood Motte.”

Waspishly and leaning forward, Rhaegar questions her. “How do you know him? Oh, is that it? You already chose the one you wished to put horns on me with?”

Her face sours. Oh! “Do not be vile!”

Rhaegar growls. “Who is he if not that?”

The only reason she does not snap at that is the lack of a proper way of telling a person their father killed his in front of the boy? “Glover was a guest of your father’s.” Like many were. Like she was. 

“Guest?”

“He was squire to Brandon Stark”.

Rhaegar’s face curdles. “I see.” Did he, truly? “Why would he be writing to you?”

Because she never asked him to desist. When the first one came she thought the gesture sweet. Now, she wonders if it had been an indulgence she should not have allowed herself if Rhaegar was going to act like this. “Not having read the letter, I cannot say.”

“Elia!”

She sighs. What could she say? That while she had little in common with the lad, they both survived a shared horror others have not? An admission like that is hardly going to improve Rhaegar’s mood. 

Licking her lips, she pulls her shoulders back. “He is under a misapprehension I have been unable to correct.” That she does not have the urge to is something she will not reveal. She cannot tell Rhaegar that it makes her feel less wretched knowing that more than only her own people tolerate her.

Obviously growing more mistrustful, Rhaegar presses, “What misapprehension?”

“That ensuring a few edible crumbs found their way into his cell took considerable effort.”

“How did you manage that?” 

She shudders. “Sliding a few golden Dragons into the hands of a scullery wench and the guard who fancies himself in love with her isn’t particularly difficult.” It had not been easy either, but, why should she tell Rhaegar this? What would that accomplish? It would not change that it needed to be done or that it had not been enough.

“Is he grateful to you?”

She scoffs. This was a boy who saw his friends die for doing nothing but trying to do their duty. Giving a scared boy crumbs is nothing special. Why would he feel gratitude? “I did not thing special to warrant it.”

Rhaegar snaps, “You just said you fed him.”

“Hardly.” She did nothing when it counted.

“Why did you do it at all?”

“It was the least I could have done.” She could have done so much more. She should have done more. Perhaps so many things might have been better had she acted sooner. With a sigh she thinks it is not just the food or Ethan Glover she thinks of. 

Rather than set Rhaegar at ease he seems wearier. Why? “It matters to him.” 

She shrugs. “The boy is being kind.”

“What do you mean by ‘kind’?”

This time door bangs open. Had this been any other circumstance she would have groaned in relief as Viserys comes barreling in, dragging Renly Baratheon behind him with a pair of apologetic Kingsguard in tow.

Viserys, smiling at her, blurts, “Sister, we looked-”

Trying to collect herself she tries to not to wince at the wide-eyed stare Viserys gives Rhaegar’s hands where they are wrapped around her shoulders once again. She flushes fiercely. Viserys starts snickering while the Baratheon boy blushes and looks away. 

She does not dare look at Ser Gerold or at Ser Willem. Gods, what they must think. Worse because it would be nothing of the truth.

On the heels of that thought, Rhaegar tears his hands away from her. She steps away from her husband as he barks, “Viserys, you know better than to barge in-”

“Elia has letters.” 

Still wide-eyed, Viserys produces them with a flourish. 

Incredulous, Rhaegar stares. “More letters?”

Wilting slightly under Rhaegar’s scrutiny, Viserys nods slowly. “We looked for her everywhere.” Viserys turns to his companion. “Didn’t we?”

The little Stormlord nods shyly before Rhaegar bites out, “Why?”

Though the Baratheon boy shrinks back, Viserys rolls his eyes at Rhaegar’s raised tone. “Renly says one is from his brother.”

She sucks in a sharp breath when Rhaegar narrows his eyes at her. “Lord Stannis wrote to you.” 

From the corner of her vision, she sees young Baratheon starting to pale and his shoulders start to shake. Though the urge to snap is strong, she refrains. The boy was still nervous around most and he positively fears and mistrusts Rhaegar. Though, not for the same reasons, she knows the feeling too well. “Lord Stannis is returning a letter.”

“Returning?” Rhaegar scowls. The two Kingsguard share dubious looks while the Baratheon boy seems to be doing his best to sink into a wall. 

Without answering Rhaegar, she holds her hands out. “I will take my letters now, Viserys.”

She sends up a prayer to the gods that one thing work in her favor today. When the letters are safely tucked in her hands, unwilling to look at Rhaegar, to Viserys, she adds, “I believe you and Lord Renly have lessons.”

Though young Renly, with an uneasy glance directed at both Rhaegar and her, dutifully starts making for the door, Viserys groans. In no state to delay the inevitable, she cuts Viserys off with a promise. “If the Maester is pleased with you both today, you may have one more cake with your supper tonight. Run along now.”

Without waiting for a response she turns her attention to the pair of knights uneasily observing this new farce. “Please Sers?” 

Thankfully, the knights begin ushering out the now whooping Viserys and the Baratheon boy who mumbles his thanks as he practically runs out the room.

Yet, she cannot consider that any sort of victory. Once they are alone, Rhaegar rounds on her again. “Stannis Baratheon.” 

Sighing, she admits, “Yes.” 

Rhaegar’s tone is predictably accusatory. “He writes to you.”

Unable to deny it when the proof is in her hands, she shrugs.

More tersely, he asks, “Why? Baratheon is not the type to write.”

Though she tries to suppress the guilt for never telling Rhaegar about this, she frowns. “His brother resides here.”

“Why you?”

She exhales. What does he accuse her of now? 

No matter. What she will say he will likely find her answers inadequate. It would not have mattered if she had told him. “If you like I can ask him to direct any future missives to you?”

Rhaegar barks, “You think he wants to write to me?” 

She barely holds her laughter in. The idea of Stannis Baratheon writing to Rhaegar is absurd. That Baratheon writes to her at all is likely because the man makes her out to be the best option of a bad lot. Anyone could think that. “I suppose not.”

Rhaegar looked as though he wanted to curse at her. Instead, he tightly observes, “Viserys said ‘letters’ as in more than one. Who are the other letters from?”

Agitated, she throws the letters down on his desk. “When you are done with them, please return them to me so I might address them. Or if it suits you, answer them yourself if you like.” 

Rhaegar’s jaw twitches as he eyes the letters. Giving them a dark look, he lifts them up sharply. “I do not want to read your letters.” 

Though they are hers, she does not take the letters this time. “Why ask about them, then?”

Rhaegar’s lips curl. She cannot say if it is disgust or something else. She does not have it in her to figure it out. “Because you do not tell me of them at all.”

She sees and hears how hurt he is. She swallows thickly; half in anger, half in humiliation. Him, hurt? It is as if he does not realize he is trying to make her feel guilty. That alone gives her the fire to answer, “Why does my correspondence matter only now? You never bothered with it before.”

Purple eyes blaze with heat which makes her flinch. “That is not fair.”

Perhaps not. Alas, she has little use for fair when fair had gotten her to this point. “It does not make it a lie.”

When Rhaegar’s hands clench and he leans forward, she flinches back. She might have taken it too far.

Rhaegar’s face falls before he abruptly looks away.

The silence, once welcome, stretches. She does not want to break it. She wonders what may happen if she does. 

When he looks up again, he shakes the letters still in his hands. “Take them and send Ser Gerold back in.”

A clear dismissal again. Not wanting to stay and now having fewer reasons to desire it, she nods. However, her purpose in being here is unresolved. “About Ser-”

Rhaegar bristles before his face quickly becomes a mask. Tone cold, he promises, “You will have him at your door tomorrow evening. Ask me no more. Tell me no more.”

Though she does not trust this sudden change, relief fills her. “Thank you.”

He does not answer. She does not take offence. There is no point when he is not looking at her anymore. No, that is not quite true, he is looking at her hands, or rather, at the letters in them.

She would ask why he is so fascinated by them. Had she been in a proper state, she might have, but, she does not want to be in this room and she does not to say something only for it to become another fight.

She breathes deeply and exits the room without a word.

She forces herself to smile at Ser Gerold as she requests he attend to her husband. Her effort at keeping the expression holds only long enough to see Ser Gerold’s back. She is too tired and too sad to maintain it.

There is little sense in fighting fruitless battles when she knows there will be others.

* * *

When she is back in the safety of her chambers she admits to herself the apprehension she feels grows. 

Yet, she knows what she should do. She would accept Rhaegar’s mad scheme. Rhaegar wants her to keep one of his men close. She has no reason not to; not if she wants some freedom. Refuse him outright and no one could say what Rhaegar would do. She cannot. The realization hurts, but, at least she knows how she should proceed.

At the very least, no matter how loyal a man can be to her husband, Rhaegar’s knights are not her husband. A different man has different rules and different sensibilities. That suits her just fine.

Perhaps when away from Rhaegar’s eyes, her husband’s chosen knight will be practical. Because he must keep their secrets he might give her a kind ear. Being as stuck as she is, he might amenable enough to help her make arrangements for a lover of her own choosing rather than break his own vows.

Then again, this is a man who used the vows of a Kingsguard to accept things knights of caliber would not. Even if a man would come to her for duty, if that is all she has to contend with, she could tolerate that. With duty, she could act accordingly.

Or perhaps, he might do as all men do and take a freely offered pleasure. There might be a man with desires underneath his cloak after all. The prospect alone was intriguing even if confounding.

But what sort of man would meet her?

She sighs. Her thoughts could travel a distance from the Wall to Sunspear and it would not matter.

Whichever version of the man comes to her, when all she has now is a suspicious and changeable husband, any possibility is an improvement.

Alone in her rooms, she laughs. 

Though she is not fool enough to put much faith into anything, perhaps the uncertainty would work in her favor for once.

Whatever may happen, she would adapt. When that is all she has been doing since she first drew breath, what is more practice?


	3. Oswell

“Ah, good, sit.”

He takes the chair reluctantly. He dislikes the order. How the king remaining standing he likes less. Yet, though not a man meant for sitting when at his king’s service, he sits because his king demands it. 

The seconds tick by. There is something underneath the king’s seemingly mild countenance which betrays a wrongness he cannot decipher. Becoming more unnerved the king’s silent examination of him, he coughs. “Your Grace, you summoned me?” 

He dislikes the way the king’s jaw clenches. He dislikes the odd glint in the King’s eyes even more.

Guiltily, he shifts in his seat. He shakes his head. It is nothing. The king merely called for him later than usual. That is all there is. Or so he tells himself when the silence stretches further.

Though he desires to, he refrains from saying anything further. He is Kingsguard. He does what the king needs him to do. He speaks when ordered to. The king will tell him what he will on his own time. Besides, there was something in the king’s stance makes him think his interruption would be unwelcome.

“I will be leaving for Summerhall tomorrow at first light.”

He gapes. What? The king was not to leave for another week. Why such a sudden change? He had not the time to make preparations. No matter, he thinks. He will be ready to serve his king. “When do you require me to attend to you?”

Something passes across the king’s face. “Arthur will accompany me. You will remain here.” The king sends him a severe glance. “I require a different task of you.”

Disturbed at this second change, he offers a very familiar response. “Anything.” 

His king squints. “How promptly you answered me.”

What did that mean? “Yes, my king.”

Purple eyes shine. “Will that always be your answer, Oswell? ‘Anything?’” The king adds, “Are you certain?” 

The way the king rolls the words out…It was as if he was tasting them; savoring them, almost. It is almost because there is something else, some dark quality, in the king’s tone he could not place. What was it? All the same he answers dutifully. “Yes.” 

“Good.” A grimace followed the word.

He does not understand. What bothers his king so? If the king is pleased why the scowl? Had he done something to warrant it? 

“I require more than one thing of you today.” Had the king’s underlying sentiment been resignation?

“Yes.” Was the king angry? 

The king smiles. Instead of putting him at ease it manages the opposite. No, this thin, sharp smile…He did not need to be Kingsguard to see it is false. “‘Anything’, you said. Remember that.”

He nods quickly.

If anything, this smile grows mocking. “I require your discretion, Oswell.” 

Discretion? What in the name of the Gods is this about? Had he ever needed to promise the king his ‘discretion’?

With lips pinching together tightly, the king turns from him and he curses himself. He was Kingsguard. It was not for him to question the king. He never questioned this king, not even when the man had been the Crown Prince. 

A thrum of fear passes through him. Had he committed some offence? Hadn’t he proved his loyalty? Had he erred in some way? He obeyed the man in front of him even when going against the former king. Does the king, his king, doubt him now? His vows had cost him many sleepless nights and the esteem of Barristan and, perhaps, young Jaime, but, why would the king demand discretion when he knew it is freely and always given? “Regarding?”

“The queen.”

“Which one?”

Violet eyes flash at him. Recognizing his mistake, he nearly recoils. He feels himself flush in embarrassment. ‘Fool’, he thinks. What possessed him to ask that? What possessed him to think that? 

The king, however, huffs, a low laugh as he waves away the attempt at an apology. “Damn her, she knew.” 

What does the king mean? Who was ‘she’? Were those words even meant for him? He cannot bring himself to ask. The king answers anyway. “Elia.”

He frowns. An answer, though, to what end?

Knowing he had made erred moments ago, he debates waiting for explanation. However, none seemed to be forthcoming. Reluctantly, he asks, “Is she well?” 

As far as he could tell there was nothing amiss with the queen. He tries fiercely tries to suppress how his mind easily supplies the thought ‘the first queen’.

The king’s aim, however, does not seem to be enlightening him. “How do you regard her?”

What in the Seven Hells is this about? ‘Regard the queen?’ Attempting to push aside his confusion, he dutifully replies, “She is a kind and gracious lady.”

He stiffens at the king’s frustrated look. How could that have displeased the king? Was it because he sounded unsure?

Tersely, the king asks, “How do you regard her personally?”

Was this some sort of trick? Or a test? What does the king desire of him? He is a Kingsguard. His duty is the guard the king’s family, not to have opinions about them. Not knowing what to make of this, he remains silent. What he said was true enough.

His nervousness flares strongly when the king asks another question. “Do you know how many the queen receives correspondence from?”

Brow furrowed in confusion, he shrugs. That’s a question for the rookery attendants; not him. 

When he sees no answer forthcoming, the king demands, “Well?”

After a while, he answers. “A good number I imagine.” 

The king snorts. “It would be, yes? Would it surprise you she receives missives from, among others, the Glovers of Deepwood Motte?” 

His brows furrow. The Glovers? Where- Deciding not to bother, he replies, “I do not-”

The king cuts in, “The Glovers are Stark bannermen.”

Now knowing who they are, he does not know why it matters. As far as he knew, the queen rarely associated with those most might deem unsuitable, unless one counted her younger brother in that company and no one would admit publicly to such a notion. Perhaps Stark bannermen writing to Queen Elia is odd, yet, what of it? If they were bannermen of considerable influence surely good would come from it? Besides, surely the queen could exchange with correspondence with anyone she wished?

A gray tint creeps into the king’s skin. “Ethan Glover was Brandon Stark’s squire.” 

The king ignores his wince or did a good impression of it. The king probably knew that answered little for him aside from ways which could not be admitted to his king.

The king’s narrowed eyes indicate he understood his thoughts perfectly. “Apparently, while they had been here, Elia arranged food for the boy, along with some others. After, she also took the care to return various possessions confiscated at my father’s orders to the families of those they once belong to. This includes Arryns, the Starks, and even Tully men. Even Baratheon writes to her now since the youngest one was brought here to be Viserys’ companion.” 

His thoughts twist uncomfortably at the king pained expression. Why is the king discussing this with him? Why is it supposed to matter? Seeing how the king caught his lingering incomprehension he stiffens.

“What do you know of Tytos Lannister?” 

The others were enough of an odd topic; now a dead man he never met? What does this have to do with the queen? What does this have to do with him? “Lord Tywin’s father?”

The king grimaced again. “Yes, him.”

At king’s frown, he tries to bite back his own. As disturbingly odd as this all is, he obediently answers. “Very little.”

The king looked as though he bit into something incredibly sour. “Are you familiar as to the fate of his mistress?”

Likely there had been some sort of a scandal if the king chooses to remember this now, but, what is this about? He sighs. He thinks the sound utterly failed to hide the wearing of his nerves. All the same, his king asked a question of him. “I am not.”

The king’s grim visage grows darker. “It is said the current Lord Lannister, upon taking up the mantle left behind by his father’s passing, stripped her of all his father had bestowed upon her and had her exiled from the Westerlands.”

Something ugly twists in him seeing the king’s severe expression. Thoughts now flying fast…Oh gods. Was that why the king asked his opinions about the queen? Surely not! This was Queen Elia after all. The woman arranged for Prince Jon placement in the nursey and argued to give Queen Lyanna her desired wedding ceremony.

Though his hands twitched violently, he remains mute. Of course, the king would expect him to protect Queen Lyanna even against Queen Elia. But, does Queen Lyanna need protecting? If so, surely the king would not leave Queen Lyanna here with Queen Elia while he goes to Summerhall earlier than intended? Besides, the king is healthy and young. Surely Queen Elia would have overcome whatever miserable thoughts she might entertain. 

He grimaces. Or perhaps not. The king said Tywin Lannister acted after his father was gone. Who could say that the king’s wife would be any different if the opportunity arose? Who would stop her? When the next king is Queen Elia’s son and who would be his liege, would he stop such a thing?

He thinks he would. Only the thought in his mind is silenced by the memory of a cruel laugh of a man now dead and the vision of a troubled smile of an equally dead silver-haired queen. 

It was because of such things he went against King Aerys. It tore at him, but, he knew what he should do and he had. But, when he went against a king’s wishes he helped unleash so much pain, destruction, and death. What would happen if he disobeyed Aegon if that was his wish?

He breathes deep and tells himself that is a question for a future. At any rate he doubted his being of the opinion that Queen Elia had no such designs would soothe the king before him. 

He grimaces again. He can give the king neither comfort nor assurance. The king smiles thinly as if he knew the dark path of his thoughts. “Queen Elia’s disappointment in me was made abundantly clear. She intends treasonous behavior.”

“Treason? Queen Elia?” Was that why he was here? To make sure that the queen was arrested or is it something else the king has in mind? He shudders. No matter how the future unfolds, he would not want the task of arresting that woman.

To his horror, the king grins at him wryly. “She engaged in treasonous plots before. Why you are surprised now?”

He barely holds back a sound which was part shock and part snort. “But, that was with-” He cuts himself off, flushing at the king’s sneer.

Is that why the king mentioned her newer friendships with other lords? Was that the reason behind the queen doing it? True, he knows enough houses were displeased with the king and Queen Lyanna, but, assuredly a willingness to be on amiable terms with one of the King’s family was something to take heart in? Or was there another reason for her efforts? Why else the mention of Tytos Lannister’s mistress?

No matter how angry she would be, she would never endanger her children’s status. But, if she thought the king- “Is she-” He halts and takes a breath. “Is she-” He shudders. “Is she planning on installing your heir as king?”

The king laughs. Then, the king’s amusement vanishes as quickly as it came. “I think I would have welcomed that more easily than what she intends.” 

“We-welcomed?” He winces at his stutter and his incredulity. What in the name of the gods was he listening to?

Feeling somewhat relieved, hesitantly he ventures, “You have not arrested her?”

Though he would obey, that is not a task he wants. He will not be the one to tell the crown prince, or the Princess Rhaenys, he had been the one to arrest their mother. 

His eyes widen. But, would they remain in exalted positions if their mother is deemed a traitor? Surely the king would not displace his heir. Oh, there is another heir; another son by a different queen who the king would hope does not come to share the fate of a former mistress of a dead man. He fears asking the question as he does the answer.

The king glares at him. “What? No! Must you think that of me as she does?”

He startles even when the king sighs, looking wearier than he has ever seen him. Through clenched teeth, the king offers, “She intends a different sort of treason.”

‘A different sort?’ What does that mean? The king who did not seem angry, frightened or even worried. Of all things, why is he sullen? 

“She is to take a lover.”

In shocked relief, he sinks back into the chair as he huffs out a laugh. “Is that all?” 

The moment they left his mouth, he knows those were the worst words to say. He almost bites his tongue at the heat of the king’s glower. He spits out another quick apology which the king dismisses with an exasperated gesture.

At a loss, he swallows. “Is there-” He cuts himself off again. Where does he begin? How can he? 

Having already said too much, he resolves to tread carefully. He is no Maester, but, no one ever accused him of being a fool. Kingsguard do not flee danger. They do not seek it out or should they. 

The king grimaces. “When she accepted certain parameters I set, I had no reason to deny her request.” 

With his dread sinking slowly away his befuddlement increases. The king agreed? How could the king accept this? Why would he? In the end, those are not questions for him to ask and so he asks another. “Parameters?”

The king waves distractedly. “She promised discretion.”

He nods. Of course, she would promise that. There is every reason for her to be discreet. What does that have to do with his being here?

A thought comes to him. Feeling his cheeks redden, this time, he tears his gaze away, embarrassed. Was that it? 

When he knows he will be capable of controlling his reaction, he looks to his king again. After a few aborted attempts, he speculates, “You wish me to be her guard when…” Feeling the flush of his face becoming fiercer he trails off. 

The king looks as though he was attempting to swallow bile. “No.”

If not that, then what? “Your Grace?”

“I mean for it to be you.”

Brows knitting together, he blurts, “For what to be me?”

The king scowls at him. “I mean for you to be her lover.”

Horrified, he opens his mouth. No sound comes out. Stunned as he is he cannot force any. The chair under him creaks loudly when he edges backwards in it. He takes a deep breath. “No.” He winces at his unbecoming, rushed squeak.

“You refuse me?” 

His breath catches at the heat of glowing, narrowed violet eyes directed at him. Why was the king angry? Didn’t he want him to be loyal to him? Surely, the king did not want this. Gods, to think of it. The way the king looks at him tells him this is not some sort of twisted test. This must be some jape…Or is it?

Unbidden and unwanted he thinks if the queen wanted a lover and his mind can barely come to grips with that, certainly he would not be suitable. How had he even become a consideration?

He shakes his head. No. He cannot be a part of this. But, the king looks expectant. Desperately, he begins, “Surely you cannot want-”

He flinches when the king’s face morphs into something ugly. One of the king’s hands turns into a fist while the other hand seemed prepared to throw something. The king hisses. “Of course not. All the same you must do this.”

May the gods forgive him. He should not question his king. He does not want to. However, he will overstep his boundaries this once. He must. “Why?”

The king snarls before biting out, “You are usually better at paying attention.”

He swallows thickly. “I-I do not understand. Why me? I am a Kingsguard.” Gods, why him? Why was the king asking this of him? Hadn’t he done enough for his king to ask this of him? 

“You are loyal to me.”

He nods vigorously. He is loyal. He always had been. “I am loyal to you.” He stresses the last two words in the hopes the king understands why he should not be party to this. 

“I promised her that if you refused I would let her choose her own lover.”

“Good.”

If anything the king’s expression turns sourer. “No!”

Something in him sinks when the king goes on, “You never refused me before. And was it not you who swore ‘anything’?” 

Ash fills his mouth. He had. “Not this!” Never this. 

“She does not trust me.” Even if it was true, even with how despondent the king sounded at the prospect it must be, how was this going to change that? 

At his continuing incomprehension, the king shakes his head wildly. ”Elia was given an education beyond that of a mere lady.” 

The king gives him a disgusted look. “Though I have attempted to make amends, not all if anything I have done is forgiven or forgotten; be it Elia or anyone else.”

In his state he fails to grasp what that has to do with anything. To care for games of court or the queen’s possible failings were not part of his duties. Had the king not remembered how he used to stand by and watch King Aerys behave boorishly with Queen Rhaella? He hated it and did it all the same. He was Kingsguard. His chosen lot was to guard the family; not to insert himself in their lives, let alone their beds. He is Kingsguard; such things are not for him to know about. He does not want to know. He knows too much already.

“I should have foreseen it and I did not. I have left the queen open to vulnerabilities I cannot ensure I might be able to curtail. I cannot allow just any greedy, foul fathered whoreson into my wife’s bed let alone in a position to whisper in her ear.”

And so he must do it? That the king expects him to do it?

Perhaps he said that out loud because the king growled at him. “I cannot take the risk. I need someone I trust to ensure it does not happen.”

The king’s earnestness fails to soothe him. Instead he clutches for what he can. “It need not be me. What of her promise to be discreet?” 

The king sneers. “She will. I cannot say the same of some lover.”

“Surely she would pick wisely? If not, why agree to this mad scheme?” 

Even if the king would question his loyalty why would the queen agree to this? Surely she knows how loyal to the king he is? Break his vows? With the queen? He shakes his head violently. He wants no part of this. He was sure the queen was capable of choosing someone clever at keeping their mouth shut; someone not him.

“I cannot refuse her a lover when I took another wife.”

He barely manages to swallow the curse which nearly escaped his mouth. It has been weeks, months even, and only now is this a concern? “You are her husband and the king.”

The king sneers again. “A husband with another wife and a king with another queen.”

Even with the right of it, what the king wants of him is madness. “Why me?”

The king grimaces at him again. “Why not you? Surely you did not gain your cloak untouched. Or are you not capable?”

Despite himself indignation flares. “I am!”

At the satisfied look in the king’s eyes he cursed himself. Damn it all! He was trying not to get involved, not to goad the king into further forcing him into this mess. Trying another tact, he begins, “She barely looks at me.” 

The king looked victorious. “You see my reasons, then?”

No, he does not that and he does not want to. Oh, but, that does not stop his king from silkily speaking. “You helped me with Lyanna. Who would think that she would take anyone, let alone you into her bed? No one would dare think it of you. She sees the sense in it.”

She sees-She sees the sense in this? 

Gods…Had they discussed this? His involvement? Did she even know what the king intends? Had the king demanded this of her? Was this king’s method of ridding himself of obligations to wife he no longer wanted? Had he demanded she take him? Did she even want a lover? Had she only agreed to save face?

He flushes; not in embarrassment, but, in horror. Before Elia Martell became his queen, she had been Lewyn’s niece! Lewyn, his brother, died in battle while he hid away in their homeland. 

That is all the reason for him not to do this. Even if his dearest wish was to cuckold a man, his king, no less, why would any woman, his queen, let him anywhere near her or her bed after he helped embarrass her and betrayed her kin?

He flushes more deeply. She never said a cross word to him, but, after his return to King’s Landing, Queen Elia had been distantly polite. Seeing too much of Lewyn in her he tried to stay out of her way, grateful for not having to attend to her more than necessary. How was he to undertake his duties now? How was he to face Lewyn’s niece now? He already cheated Lewyn in life. To do it in death is unfathomable. 

For once he feels little shame when the perfect counter comes to him. “Why not Arthur?”

Slamming his hand against the table separating them, the king shakes his head, firmly stating, “Not Arthur.”

“Why not?” To his ears it came out a most unbecoming whine, but, no matter. The question still stands: ‘Why not anyone else so long as it was not him?’

The king spits out, “Arthur is Dornish.”

“And?”

The king snarls. “I am trying to ensure my wife’s bed is not filled with grasping hands.”

Hysteria getting the better of him, he scoffs loudly. The Sword of the Morning, a grasping hand? Arthur Dayne disloyal to Rhaegar Targaryen? Even when at his best the thought would have been laughable. “Arthur would use her?” 

“Did you think I spoke of Tytos Lannister’s mistress for my own gratification?”

“I did not know why you would speak of her.” He guessed, but, he is in no state to accept the association.

“Arthur hated being in Dorne.”

Indignant, he nearly jeered. “I did not enjoy it, either.”

Undeterred, his king adds, “Your brothers of blood are not among Elia’s people.” 

Implication made plain, he rasps out, “That is your reason for not trusting him?” 

The king raises his chin. “At this moment Elia has been seen to do more than her part for those to whose loyalties Lyanna and I, respectively, cannot secure. I mean to rectify the situation as best I can, Oswell, but, that is a real queen down the hall. Her people are Arthur’s people and he disappointed her and them when she had been his princess. Arthur, I think, is far more susceptible than you. You do not have such ties or divided loyalties. You might not view it as such, but, I have faith in your ability to manage it so that the queen’s whims remain exactly that.”

Anger spiking sharply, he stiffens. Was that what the king was after? Install a man he trusts in the queen’s bed and listen if she does nothing more treasonous? After everything, was that what he is worth? “I cannot.”

The king’s voice is sharp. “Think on it. Surely you remember what it was to have a woman again. You will not get another chance.”

Oh, that was cruel. “I swore vows.”

“Did you forget your chief vow is to obey your king?”

Was this man, with steel in his tone and stance, the one who struck Baratheon down at the Trident? It seemed so. The lines on the king’s face are as inflexible as his words. “I require this of you. Besides, was it not you who declared ‘always’?”

He flinches at the hard look the king gives to the door when someone knocks against the other side. 

He does not know whether to feel more shame or gratefulness when Arthur comes through.

The king glances at Arthur before turning back to him and speaking mildly, as though what passed had been nothing save his fevered imaginings.

“That will be all, Ser Oswell. You may spend the day as you wish. Queen Elia will expect you tonight. I leave my wife in your hands.”

Though he tries not to think of how wrong this is and how wrong it will be, with Arthur watching, he can do little more than bow as he answers, “Yes, my king.” 

The king nods, seemingly satisfied; or, he might have thought so not been for the hardness in his king’s eyes at the stiffness in his tone. 

He turns swiftly. He wants to leave. He needs to.

He is half-way to the door before he catches his reflection on a gleaming surface. He leans forward slightly. He stiffens. Surely that could not-

He briefly glances back to see his king and his fellow knight standing side by side. His jaw clenches. He was chosen for this…task, not Arthur who was as close as a brother to the king a man could be without sharing blood. Him, when it was Arthur who his king, despite his recent words, trusted above all others.

The king demands this service of him. He could trust him with this, the king had said; trust him with the security of one wife while assuring that of the other. 

‘Anything’ indeed. This is no honor bestowed. This is a reminder of their difference and of his servitude. Perhaps he needed it. If the king wanted something done he should do it, after all, he had vows and he promised. Who was he to deny his king? 

He turns back around and closes the door behind him. He straightens his spine and begins to go. He needs time and that is one luxury he has little of.

* * *

“The prospect repulses you?” He registers the shake of her shoulders before the sound of her laughter. “You find me that ugly?”

Stunned, he remains silent when she keeps laughing from her perch of the low divan in her rooms. Only, he finds himself shuddering at the broken sound it becomes. “What?’

No longer laughing, she sighs and she looks down and smooths down her dressing gown. Without thought his eyes follow to where the top of her breasts press against the shift she wore underneath the dressing gown. He abruptly looks up in time to hear, “Of course you would think this to be a punishment. I have never been a great beauty.”

“I do not refuse because I do not find you beautiful.”

When she smiles he curses himself. Damn it all! This is not what he ought to be doing. He should not be complementing her. He should not be here at all. He should not have to try to convince her to not bed him or anyone for that matter.

Then, she stiffens. “Do not lie to me.”

“What makes you think I am lying?”

Though she has yet to move, her eyes, usually never narrowed at him like they were now, compel him to step back. “When my own husband only wants me out of misplaced pride, I do not need any of your pity.”

Insulted, he retorts, “I am not giving it.” 

“Oh?” 

He jerks his head wildly. Nothing pitiful can make a king resolved enough for this. “I do not pity you.”

The queen snorts. He shrugs his shoulders. “I know this is not meant to punish me. I have done nothing to warrant it.”

It is a sweet lie he tells. He had deserved to be punished. His inaction for many months, years, ago made it a lie…

All the same, he knows the king had not intended for this to be a punishment. He almost laughs. No, the king requires this of him because his wife would not confuse the king for him in the dark.

She gives him a doubtful glance. The barest touch of softness slips into dark eyes. It disturbs him more than anything else. “Why are you here, Ser Oswell?”

He lowers his head in embarrassment. “The king required it of me.” 

Her lips twitch. “I know why the king wants you here. I did not ask that. I asked why you are here.”

Quite the perfect match this queen and the king are. They both act and plan while he, the blind man, is required to obey. “The king’s will is my own.” He says it with what he thinks is a steady voice. 

She laughs. Of course, she knows his words are falsehoods. He should have known. For all his apparent concerns, the king’s most pressing one seemed to be that this queen of his was too clever. 

“Why he sent you here and why you are here are different things.”

“I am Kingsguard and the king demanded it.”

She sneers. “A Kingsguard would bed a woman on command? But, I suppose it is fair to say the vows of Kingsguard differ from those of most knights.”

The barb stings. Of course she would mock him so. He had done plenty as a Kingsguard he would have not done otherwise. He was here to do something proper knights would never do. “Then, I am here to dissuade you from this course. You wish to bed a man and you should not.”

She grins. “Ah. So, that is it. You wish to convince me this is folly?”

“I-?” He stops. What does want to say? What should he say? Does he have the right? After all, this was the queen. Yet, the king does not want this even though had it not been for the king he would not be here right now. Though, it has been enough years since he has had to pay court to a woman, for better or for ill, surely he should be better at speaking to one than this? “You should not do this.”

“Why not?” She looks as though she wanted to laugh at him again. If he had been in a different position, he might have done the same.

“Do you know what will happen if this was to get out?”

He flinches when she clucks at him disappointedly. “How would it? I will not tell anyone. My reputation and safety would be damaged. Rhaegar certainly would not risk the blow to his ego. Do you have plans to reveal anything, Kingsguard?”

His hands clench at his sides. “You are a wedded woman.” 

She rises slowly. “And?” She steps closer to him.

“It is unseemly.” 

She steps forward again. “Unseemly?” She smirks. “Have you become a Septon when I had not been looking?”

His mouth open only for her to interrupt. “Many of our ilk seek happiness outside their marital beds and I did my duty. Besides, who in Westeros can say I have every reason to be happy with my marriage without snickering behind their hands or offering false platitudes?”

By now she has crossed more than half the distance to him and it nearly takes everything in him to stop himself from stepping back. She shrugs, yet, her eyes are hard. “Besides, I am Dornish. Deviancy is to be expected, isn’t it?” 

He will not play this game with her. He does not want to play anything with her. “You are the queen of the Seven Kingdoms and I am a Kingsguard. We took vows.”

She smiles as though she is party to some secret. “I am one queen of two and you would hardly the first Kingsguard to break this particular vow. My own uncle, for example, had a lover.”

He feels that too familiar unpleasant lurch again. He should protest against what should have been a slight against his brother, but, this is Lewyn’s niece. She would have known her uncle’s secrets. He still volleys an argument. He thinks Lewyn would praise him for it had he been here. “Lewyn would not want this.” 

Gods, Lewyn…Lewyn would have struck him dead. Vows be damned, Lewyn would have thrust his sword through the king for this had he been here to do it. “Lewyn would never have allowed this.”

“No, he would not have”, Lewyn’s niece muses. In that moment he feels as though she might see reason. Then, her face falls along with his hope. “Alas, dear knight, dead men make no allowances.” 

Half a room separates them and he feels the impact of that. He barely manages to push down the bile rising in his throat. Gods. Lewyn and Jonothor died on a battlefield serving their king while he hid from king he swore his life to. Had they wondered where he had been? Had they wished he had been with them when they went to battle? Had they cursed his name? 

But, her words are true. He does not have the right to grieve or to argue about what they wanted or done; not when he lives and not when they died. Is this why he was here now? Because he had erred then?

“Like any uncle, he wanted things for me. My uncle fought and died in a war he did not want to take part in because of me. I owe it to him to remember than I am more than a king’s convenient bauble.”

“You’re not-”

She scowls. “‘I am not’ what?”

This time when she steps forward he draws back. Dread fills him the more she advances. “You are not like this.” 

She sneers. “What do you know about me? Why can you not believe this about me? That I want this?”

“Why should I? When have you ever been the type to want a lover? When before you barely lifted your voice why would you retaliate upon the king this way? Why do you want me for a lover?” All of those questions and he has none of the answers. Will he get them from her? Will he get any?

Now half a foot away from him, she throws her head back and laughs. “Rhaegar chose you. I did not.”

“Then, why not refuse?” Why put herself through this? Why him?

Though she remains mute, she flinches. He should not, yet, he feels bolder. “Answer me.”

She raises her chin in defiance. “You would dare order me about?”

His jaw clenches. Was this what the king saw and he decided he would rather leave it for someone else?

He raises his arms. She sees the gesture, yet, she does not cower or move back. Frustrated with himself, he pushes his hands back behind him. No matter what he had been forced into, this was a woman; the queen at that. “When it is my body you want I will.”

“I took what was offered.”

“I made no offers.” 

She grins at him crookedly. “What of the king’s will being your own?” Of course she would throw his own words back at him.

“I lied.”

She grins. “Oh, how lovely.”

Feeling out of his depth once again, he questions, “What’s lovely?”

“That there is a man under that cloak after all.”

“That is enough for you to want to move forward with this?” ‘This’ he calls it, instead of the farce it is. “Do you not think I deserve to know why? The king had said-”

She holds up a hand, lips curling in disdain. “I know what he said.”

This time he steps forward. “Why do you not tell me what this is about?”

She rolls her shoulders back. “Do you truly want to know?”

No. “Yes. I should know.” 

She tilts her head, making an exaggerated show of considering. “Better you than the alternative.”

What does that mean? 

She smiles at him crookedly. “You do not understand.”

He remains silent. He knows the king’s mind, in part; not this queen’s. Because he never thought to learn it, he damns himself. 

She leans forward. “I want you to guess.”

Her breath tickles her ear. The sensation is not unpleasant, he thinks. He stifles that thought with a vengeance. After a while, he spits out, “Discretion serves your purposes.”

The silk she wears slides across his clothes in a manner that is more enticing than it ought to be. “Go on.”

He shakes his head. “I cannot say.”

Closer to him now, she insists, “Yes, you can.”

He barely stops himself from springing backward. “No one would consider this a possibility.”

She offers, “I fought with Rhaegar.”

That does not surprise him. “Because he did not want you to take a lover.”

When she steps back, he lets out an unsteady breath. Her hand is still close to his. “I doubt any man would enjoy the prospect of his wife bedding another man.” She smiles again. He catches a glimpse of her white teeth. 

“But, he agreed?” 

“He also decided he wanted to be the one to choose my lover.” Though her voice is near flat, he can sense the long-suffering tinge in it.

He tries to ignore the sweet scent of her perfumes still lingering in his nose. “You agreed.”

Now her shoulders slump. She looks despondent. “I gave in.”

Disconcerted, he frowns. “Why?”

She huffs. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

He has suspicions, but, he holds his tongue. 

This time when she lets out a small laugh there is something terribly sad about it. Whichever part of him which is still a proper knight hisses in his mind about his responsibility to help a lady in need. He tries to suppress it from existence.

“Since you insist, I will tell you why I accepted this, you.”

Despite wanting to know, he dreads it. “Why?”

“Because trust is not an abundant commodity.”

Her eyes glisten now and he looks away. 

He does not know what to say to that. Was there something he could say? With the despairing face etched in his mind, there is nothing. When she continues, he barely suppresses his shiver. “If I took something for myself I would not trust I would not sink into it all too easily. That cannot be allowed to happen. The likelihood of it occurring it with one of Rhaegar’s men is slim.”

_“I cannot allow just any greedy, foul fathered whoreson into my wife’s bed, whispering in her ear.”_

The king suspected it could happen and the queen shared her king’s sentiments. But, why should that bother her so?

His breath catches. She fears the king. Even with his agreement, the king could go back on his promises. Yet, the king could not punish for what he chose. A smart woman would see that any reassurance is better than none. “You do not trust the king.” 

She smiles though here is no happiness in the expression. 

“How good are you at Cyvasse?”

Irritated and confused and at the change in subject, he blurts, “I do not play.”

She sits down at a small table. “Good. I will teach you.”

He looks at her doubtfully as she begins pulling out some pieces. “You want to teach me how to play a game?” They both knew why he was here and it had little to do with games of this sort. What is she doing?

She huffs a laugh again. “When I doubt you wish to bed me tonight, this will have to do. I do not wish to bed someone unwilling.”

Despite himself he hopes he is not blushing like a green boy. 

She glances up at him. “Do you have anywhere else to be?”

“No.” It was the king’s order not to leave unless the queen dismisses him and she had not.

Her lips twitch. “Did Rhaegar tell you to stay?” 

How did she know? He grimaces. It is a foolish question. “Yes.”

Thankfully, she tears her eyes away from him and busies herself with preparing the board again. 

“Well, then, sit down. Standing there uncomfortably will not make for an engaging evening. Besides, it won’t work if you don’t learn the game.”

Which game? “What won’t work?”

Now when she looks up at him, she does it reproachfully. “If you are going to be here I am giving you a reason to be.”

He stares. Without the aid of a looking glass he knows he blushes fully now.

Evidently, she was not waiting for him to answer. She rises and takes his hand. It jumps in hers. She pulls lightly. Though he could escape her grip easily, he does not.

She waves her free hand indicating she would have him sit. He does not take it.

She smirks. “Oh, Kingsguard, do not fret so. Your virtue is safe with me tonight.” Only for tonight?

Once more, she urges, “Sit down.” She begins summarizing the rules of this game she wants him to learn. 

He lets himself be dragged to the table. Though the king expected it, the queen’s pleasure does not seem to be in bedding him tonight. He lets out a breath. If not tonight, then not tonight. He will savor that fact as he will savor any kindness allowed him. In his marrow he knows this is only a temporary reprieve. How much a fool had he been before to fail in understanding how time and forewarning are kindnesses not to be taken lightly?

He shivers. Why bother with this when they both know this is not what he is here for? He does not want to be here for the reason he is either.

He remains because he had not been dismissed. Whatever is the result of this, the king can hardly fault him for sitting here playing Cyvasse with the queen if this is what she wants. No one could fault him for following this order; even himself.

A disappointed voice interrupts his thoughts. “You have not been listening.”

While he should mount a protest, he is too worn to try. Perhaps the king will ask him what occurred here. This might please the king. He frowns. Perhaps the king will be displeased that this is the result of a contentious argument between the king and queen. He breathes out. “I will do better. Show me again. Please?”

Mistrustfully, she sighs. “Alright.” Irritation seeping into her voice, she warns, “Ser, I am putting whatever little trust I have left in your ability to dissemble.”

He flinches. ‘Ser’. He does not deserve the title.

She arches a brow in askance. How is he to explain when she is the one who requires he break his vows? But, was it not the king’s will? Yet, for reasons of her own the queen will not gainsay the king completely. To do that she means to make him an oathbreaker and a liar. But, they both know he is one and has been one since he followed his prince into the Dorne.

He shakes his head. Who was he to question anything? No matter what he is called or what he will do had he been a proper knight he would not have found himself in this position now. Yet, he is because he is a Kingsguard and a failed knight. “You are right to demand whatever you will of me.”

He failed this woman when she had been his princess as he had her queenly predecessor. He failed his former king and his brothers who were dead because his negligence and dereliction of duty. He failed his current king by never questioning him before this.

This is not a punishment, he thinks. It could be his penance. 

She nods tightly. He watches intently as she resets the board wearing a tired grimace on her face.

He forces himself to keep his gaze lowered as she reiterates how the pieces on the board ought to move. This time he is resolved to pay attention. This time, he will do his duty.

When it his turn, unexpectedly, the queen’s hand comes to rest around his. His hand jumps. “Do not put it there.” His eyes fly towards hers. Her expression is infuriatingly bland. 

He should shake her hand off. He does not. He does plenty which he ought not to. When he should look away, he keeps his head up. When he should go, he stays. “Where shall I put it?”

He exhales sharply when her hand leaves his to point. He moves the game piece without a thought.

How easily he obeys surprises him, but, not greatly. He obeyed his father, his mother, his brothers, and kings. Why not a queen? Why should this be any different? Obedience was easy. To allow himself to ignore the lingering warmth from where her hand touched his he would do plenty.

He laughs.

“What is so humorous, Ser?”

Nothing. Everything. “Do not call me that.”

Rather than the umbrage he expected, she glances at him quizzically. “What would you have me call you?”

He grimaces. “Oswell. Under the circumstances I would have you use my name, my queen.”

He gets half a smile. “As you like, Oswell.” His name voiced in her Dornish drawl sounds sweetly warm. 

He swallows heavily. He should not be thinking of things like that. But, it was better than imagining her calling him Ser when…This was profane enough. 

“You may call me, Elia…if you like.” 

He wonders at her hesitance. If there was any word he could use to describe her hesitant would not have been one. He frowns. “Would it please you?”

She startles. She licks her bottom lip. “I do not know.”

“Why not?”

If her face been made of glass it would have shattered into countless pieces. “I do not remember the last time anyone asked me if anything would please me and truly meant it.”

An uncomfortable silence descends as she lowers her head and moves a piece. He moves one in turn. He remains silent because there is nothing he could say. Then again, he was not here to speak or think.

Instead he curses himself for being a special kind of fool. He should have known penance has been lost to him long before now. He should have known he would not leave these rooms without damning himself. He should have known the white cloak comes at a cost and now he must pay it. He knows he will pay it.

After all, Kingsguard do not flee.


End file.
